Lost Cause - Re-uploaded
by CollectiveMinds
Summary: Peter had always had depression, but now with the death of his only remaining family member he begins to fall into a pit of pain and suffering. Will Peter meet his end or will someone come and be his saving grace? Rated M. Trigger Warning: Depression, Self Harm and harsh langue.
1. Breaking Point

**Breaking Point**

* * *

You don't notice it at first. The pain. Everyday life moves by so fast that you get lost in the haze. It's not till your alone, truly alone, do you feel the tears run down your face as you pray that the sun just won't come up. That there won't be another day. Wishing to hide from the world. But you can't. The sun will still rise and you'll be forced to live despite the fact you're dying on the inside.

Everyone has their breaking point. A point where they could no longer deal with anything life throws at them. And today seems to be his. Everyone, he had ever loved or at least remotely cared about, were gone. He had no one. In the rational part of his mind he understood that there was nothing he could do, but, in the grand scheme of things, all he could do was blame himself. After all, he could have done more. He _should_ have done more.

Tears welled in his eyes at he stared down at the razor in his hand. It wasn't anything particularly special. He had gotten the blade from a handheld pencil sharpener he simply found on the ground. But the weight it carried was what was important. With shaky fingers, he took the razor out of his left hand and felt the oddly cold metal touch his wrist.

This wasn't the first time, but it always felt like it. Taking a breath, he slid the thin blade across the vein in his arm. He could feel the pain that came with spitting his skin open. Staring at his first cut, he thought about everyone he'd lost, or in his mind, killed.

Peter Parker was your normal slightly above-average teenage boy. He enjoyed science, photography, skateboarding, and crimefighting. You know normal teenage stuff. Know only to his short term girlfriend, Gwen Stacy, Peter was more than Peter Parker. He was Spiderman, the web-slinging, red and blue adorned, friendly neighbourhood vigilantly. And despite all the good he had done, the media hated him, the cops wanted him arrested, and everyone he knew, good or bad, had died because of him.

As he placed another cut on his wrist, he began to think of everyone he'd failed. His parents, Uncle Ben, Norman and Harry Osborn, Doctor Connor, Doc Oct, Captain Stacy, Gwen... Aunt May.

Everyone he cared about was dead. Everyone he tried to protect died, and it his fault.

After X amount of cuts later, the teen stared at the blood that had slowly bubbled up from the cuts and pool on his wrist. Peter's eyes lost focus as his gaze became mesmerised by the crimson liquid. He knew was illogical it was. It wasn't like this would bring everyone back. But it helped. It gave him some control in a fucked up world were nothing he did matter.

It was in that moment he realised he felt nothing. He felt empty. The brunette acknowledges that his wrist should hurt or sting, after all, he _was_ bleeding. But he really just felt numb. Suddenly feeling sick to his stomach, he ignored the blood running down his arm and leant over the toilet next to him. Emptying the content of his stomach into the porcelain bowl, he slumped over, wiped his mouth and came to his senses. With a flush of the toilet, he cleaned his wrist with cold water from the sink and wrapped it in some gauze he'd gotten from a nearby CVS. Once all traces of blood had disappeared, he tucked the razor in his pocket and simply sat down on the ground of the bathroom and leant against the door.

For once, he decided to let himself reflect on everything that had happened. Peter let out a tiny breath of air, like a sour laugh. Funny thinking back on it. A normal day, like any other. Dressed in his costume, swing from building to building looking for petty crime before having to get back for dinner. His standard patrol, that is in till he caught word of a robbery in process at a local bank.

Of course, he immediately changed course and rushed over. Dodging the police's bullets which had gotten directed at him, he swung into the building and disarmed the robber. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, that is until he heard a gunshot followed by a scream. Turning around he saw another man shooting the hostages, and the person who had screamed was Aunt May.

He hadn't even noticed her before now. All he could think was why was she here? Last time she texted him was when she wanted to know when he'd be back so she could make dinner. Nothing there had mentioned her going to the bank. The second his eyes landed on her he quickly webbed the guys and left. Mourning silently, he returned home for the night, not bothering to stop when he heard some girl scream for help.

Now here he sat, in some orphanage that the Child Protective Service people shoved him in. Claiming that is was for the best. God, Peter wished this was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. He, a 15-year-old freshman at Mid-Town High, had just lost every person he cares about in less than two years. Everything went by so fast. Too fast.

With all that has happened his anxiety had skyrocketed and his nightly activities got cut down, which in turn made his anxiety worse. Rubbing the wrist that contained the newest cuts, he winced at the pain. To Peter, cutting wasn't anything new, just something he hadn't done in a while. Despite his efforts to stop, he always found his way back to a razor. He wasn't sure if this was just his way of punishing himself for failing or if it just brought him comfort, but in the end, it helped. Slowly he stood up, quietly left the bathroom, and walked into the room he shared with 3 other kids. Turning to 'his' bed, he got under the sheets and he closed his eyes, wishing for sleep that would never come. Tomorrow was another day, and little did he know it would change his life.

* * *

 **End of Chapter One**

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 _I hoped you enjoyed the chapter! To those coming from the original version of the story, I hope it wasn't too boring having to reread it._

 _If you enjoyed, please leave a review, constructive criticism and suggestions always welcome and it will convince me to actually write more. Thanks for reading, hope to see you at the next chapter!_


	2. Dark Thoughts

**Dark Thoughts**

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Eventually, Peter decided that sleep just wasn't going to come, no matter how much he yearned for darkness to sweep over him and allow him a blissful night. Letting out a tired sigh, he stared up at the framework of the bunk above him, unable to keep his eyelids closed. It didn't take long before he came to the depressing realisation that he had yet another consecutive wakeful night and that lying here was pointless.

Slowly pulling his aching body up off the lumpy mattress and leant up against the headboard. Against his better judgement, he decided to take a glance at the clock on the wall before getting up and heading to the bathroom. Even in the darkened room, the moonlight bleeding from the window was enough for him to make out the hands of the circular disc. 4:34. 'Huh.' Peter thought slightly amused.

Before everything, the young vigilante would usually go on patrol as early as, 6:00, or once Aunt May went to bed and would then stay out till, at the latest, 4:30. So to now look at the clock and think that 4:34 was early was just one more reminder of how messed up his life is...was.

Gradually, the brunette pulled himself off the cramped bed and leant back to stretch. He could hear cracks and pops as he tried to loosen his sore joints. Just one more reason to hate this place, they gave the 5'8 teenage boy one of the smallest beds and expected him to be comfortable. 'Because that makes _so_ much sense.' Peter thought bitterly to himself.

Grabbing a set of clothes from the suitcase under 'his' bed, he carefully headed back to the bathroom, where he had previously been not more than 3 hours prior. Upon entering said room, he locked the door behind him and went to sit on the porcelain edge of the shower-bath hybrid. Slowly, he removed the gauze wrapped around his left wrist. The cuts that scattered his skin had become a bright red making them very noticeable. They didn't look infected, but they had been deep. At least they appeared to have stopped bleeding something during the night, despite the depth.

Figuring he might as well get ready for school, Peter stood up, turned on the shower and began to undress. But, before he could step into the stream of water coming from the shower, he turned his attention back to the mirror above the sink. The reflection that stared back at him seemed almost like a different person.

The person before him had unhealthy pale skin that seemed to be bloodless. Their eyes stared at him, corpse-like. But, instead of having a sunken and dead look, they simply glared at him with a glassy and clouded look, as if unfocused. They appeared dull and lifeless with dark, heavy purple-black bags underneath, which had been the result of many wakeful nights and endless stress.

It wasn't until the mirror had completely filled with steam did he snap out of his mini-trance and look away. Getting into the shower, he let the hot water and steam coax his tense muscles to relax and drifted into mindless thought.

* * *

Turning off the shower, Peter grabbed the towel off the shower curtain rod and began to dry off. After a few moments, he discarded said towel and changed into the clothes he brought with.

His pre-determined clothing selection consisted of a long-sleeved grey shirt, which had holes at the ends of the sleeves. The holes had been an intentional addition, ensuring that his cuts would remain hidden as it allows Peter to slip his thumbs through, holding the fabric in place.

He also had a pair of worn out blue jeans that stopped just above the ankle. The dirt infused fabric's age had been clearly apparent based on the rip and tears that litter the cloth. There wasn't much he could do about it. The orphanage only allowed him to bring so much and he didn't have the money to buy anything new.

Pulling on his pants, he gave one more glance at the mirror and turned to leave the bathroom once more. Reaching towards the floor, he realised he forgot to bring his backpack with him. Despite how out of place, such a thing was, Peter would always bring it with, the reason being out of privacy because the brats he shared a room with had been extremely curious and had tried to search through his items in the past, which he can't allow.

Now in a slight panic, he quickened his pace, crossed the hall and began to opened the door slowly and quietly as to keep the other asleep, in case it had just been anxiety going off and nothing was wrong. Entering the room, he looked into the darkness and let out a breath of relief. The gremlins that he called roommates were still asleep and his bag untouched.

Despite this fact, it didn't calm his nerves in the slightest. Walking over to the bed, he grabbed the item of interested, which hid under the bedside table, and unzipped it. Taking a deep breath, he looked into the bag. He felt sick. Even in the moonlit room, his costume stood out like a sore thumb. The red colour of the fabric seems to lighten up the room as if it was a light source. Swallowing his guilt, Peter quickly zipped the bag back up and slung it over his shoulder.

It was too early to go to school, but he didn't want to stay here either. Giving the area one quick look, he remembered to grab his glasses, phone and wallet which still sat on the bedside table. Leaving the room, he silently climbed down the stairs, slipped on his shoes and grabbed his skateboard, which had been propped up against the wall.

Exiting the building, he placed on his board on the ground and set course for the school. Feeling the wind hit him as he rode, he began to feel better, but with his luck, it's only at matter of time till that feeling went away.

Once the former vigilante was about a good distance from the school, he pulled out his phone. 6:03. Peter still had plenty of time to kill before he needed to be at school. Once upon a time, he would have suited up and swung around on patrol til around 7:27, that being the first warning bell to get to class. But, for the future, that was off the table. He could barely look at his suit, much less out it on.

Deciding to find a place to wait, he found a dark alleyway. Making sure no one was around, he scaled the side of his randomly chosen building and sat on the edge of the roof. With his legs dangling off the ledge, he wondered what wound happen if he happened to jump. His web shooters remained tucked away with his costume, so if he did indulge, there'd be no going back.

Lost in thought, he gazed at the ground below, watching the dots scurry off in one direction or another. Before he could make an actual decision, one he might regret, his phone went off, pulling him from his thoughts. Retrieving the electronic device from his pocket, he found the source of the noise was one of his preset alarm. 7:00. Had he truly been up here for an hour? Dreading what awaited him, he climbed down the building with ease and headed to the one place that could only be called hell.

From what Peter could tell, today was going to be another bad day, then again, when wasn't it? Arriving around 7:18, he decided to stop by his locker then head to the library, since he had roughly 15 minutes before needing to be in First Period, and even then, he might just skip, not feel as if he could sit through the class. This wouldn't be the first time he'd had done this. Back in his Spiderman days, for different reasons, hiding in the library was nothing new. He could never arrive on time, so skipping was easier and lessen his anxiety than having to enter class late.

Approaching his locker, he dialled in his combination and opened the metal container that held his textbooks. Seeing what he would need for the day, he pulled out the required material and opened his backpack to simply placed them on top of an unhidden, incriminating red and blue suit.

In his early web-slinging days, he had designed his backpack to had a hidden pocket in the main compartment so he could hide his costume and a spare set of civvies. Now, he could be bothered to even fold his suit and place it in its correct spot, leaving it open for the world to see.

Closing the locker, he turned in pursuit to his chosen location. Entering the silent building, he made a beeline to the farthest and most secluded table he could find. Sitting down, he pulled out some forgotten homework that was either due or long past due and got to work.

It wasn't long before he heard the bell, well the bell for homeroom. He had ignored the first two, having decided to skip First. He didn't know why, but he could bring himself to get up and move. Recollecting the papers and books scattered about the table, he forced himself to leave the quiet of the library. Locking his gaze to the ground, he went into autopilot and began to walk to his next class. Ever since the incident, he hadn't looked anyone in the eyes, at least not voluntarily. Peter just couldn't bring himself to raise his head. To make things worst, in the non-existence rush this morning, he had forgotten to bring his headphones. All around him, he could hear their whispers.

"Hey look it's _that_ kid."

"Wasn't he that nerdy kid with the camera? What happen to him?"

"Did you see his wrists? God, what a freak!"

All he could hear was the sound of their pity and disgust. No matter how hard he tried, he could never block their comments out. In a way, he felt like he needed to force himself to listen. It's not like they are lying. It's true, he is a freak. Some stupid kid with scars on his wrist. What kind of sane person does that? Shaking off the question, he hung his head and walked.

Entering his class, he fell back into his new found pattern.

Normally he would have talked to random kids till the teacher told them to be quiet, but now he sat in silence, watching them with envy. When was the last time he truly felt happy? Why could those kids just smile and talk? Why couldn't he have someone? Anyone one? Then he remembered. When people get close to him, they die. It was this simple fact that made him grow numb to his environment, it's what causes him to block everyone out. He couldn't remember if anything had happened in his classes. He was on autopilot. Enter class, sit down, ignore everything, leave class, repeat. The only thing keeping him grounded was when he remembered his thoughts from this morning on the roof.

'Would it be better if I just disappeared?' Peter thought. 'Should I do it in costume to let everyone know that Spiderman had failed? That he, abandoned them? At least, then they'll know I'm not a hero but instead a murder. Or maybe I just need to die as Peter Parker and let the world wonder where their hero went? Let them keep their hope.'

These thoughts had come and go all day. It wasn't in till 8th period did he begin to focus, but, not for the reason he wanted. Despite this being his favourite subject, science, he was more focused on getting out of there as fast as possible. The reason being you may ask? Two words, Flash Thomson.

Sliding his bag onto his shoulder, he gripped his phone, periodically checking the time. 2:24. One minute. He would wait one minute. The class didn't get out till three, but the seniors got out five minutes early and he wasn't one to give up on a free head start with an easy escape route. Hearing the announcement releasing the twelfth graders, Peter shot up from his seat and raced down the hall.

He could hear the yells of the teacher calling him back, but he didn't care. He rather get I.S.S than have a 'talk' with Flash. Running as fast as he could, he slammed against the front doors and ran outside. But, before he could even get a foot from the door, he had tripped on what he soon discovered to be a foot belonging to one of Flash's follower. He felt himself get picked up by the collar and get dragged through the crowd. The students around him were too busy trying to get home to notice and within five minutes the school was close to abandoned.

" _Well_ , what do we have here?" Peter watched as Flash began to approach him. Circling him as a predator does to mess with its prey, he hears him speak again in his condescending, superior voice. "Becuase, to me, it looks like we caught ourself an emo fag."

With that, Flash proceeded to grab Peter's left arm and pulled up his sleeve to reveal his newest cuts. Without warning, Flash dug his nails into the self-inflicted wound. Wincing in pain, he could feel the blood trickle down his arm. Slow at first before Flash dug deeper. As blood flowed out his arm faster, he groaned in pain, collapsing to his knees, no longer able to support his own weight.

"Pathetic." Flash spat out, "This little emo fag can't even take a little pain." Peter squeezed his eyes shut as Flash's gripped tightened. "Come on Parker, you got to have somethin' to say."

Upset with the lack of response, Flash lifted him from the ground by his wrist and slammed him to the wall. He could feel the bully's finger leave his body as he fell to the ground. Lying slightly limp, he had no time to recover before Flash kicked his in the stomach. After a kick or two, the jock pulled him from the wall and began to aim for his chest while his buddies help. Pain exploded from his torso as he endured this onslaught.

He could hear his ribs crack every so often. Tears well in his eyes as he gasped and pleaded for the to stop. Before long, the kicking stopped, but only so the two lackeys could pull him into a slumped standing position. Feeling someone grab his hair violently, his head was brought up forcing him to face Flash.

"Look at me you piece of shit." Opening his eyes, he unwillingly looked Flash in the eyes before receiving a powerful punch to the face. Falling to the ground, he was met with another kick to the ribs. Screaming in pain, he heard Flash laugh.

Peter began to think of ways to escape before haveing some darker thoughts set in. 'What good would escaping do? This will happen tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. Maybe I should just lie here...' With that Peter considered, did he really want to give Flash the satisfaction of killing him? At this pace, that would be the outcome of all this. It _would_ be easier. If Flash killed him, he couldn't chicken out since he's not the one pulling the trigger.

Feeling another kick to his ribs, he decided that he'll save death for another day. In his attempt to escape, he grabbed Flash's leg and pull. The bully losing his balance, Flash landed hard and screams. With his friends distracted, Peter grabs his bag and fled as fast as he could.

It didn't take the others long to snap out of their stupor and began to chase him as if it were a game. He could hear the sound of Flash's footsteps growing closer. Hoping to lose them, he cut through a random alley was and made it onto one of the many sidewalks in New York.

Once on the other side, he faced a new problem. There was just too many people in his way. On one hand it helps him hide from Flash, but not if he couldn't get any distance he wanted between them. Running as fast as he could, he made his way deeper into the city. He could still see Flash in the crowd, slowly closing the gap between them.

Before he knew it, Flash had grabbed the back of his shirt and swung him into the wall next to him. Luckily, if it could be called that, Flash didn't realise that said wall had been made of glass.

Crashing into the random building, he could feel the glass shatter and embed itself into his skin as he hit the ground. Vision blurred, he looked up just enough to see Flash's shocked expression as he hightailed it out of here, where ever that may be.

* * *

 **End of Chapter Two**

* * *

 _And that concludes chapter two! Oh, the drama! Hope I didn't offend or trigger anyone._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and please, in the comments, let me know what you think or want to happen. Comments give me power and motivation to write, the more I get the faster you'll get chapters!_

 _Shoutout to Death Fury, Zehyra, KindKelsey and griezz for your comments. Also, griezz, you are right, this is meant to be within its own independent timeline and thanks for pointing out the editing mistake in the last chapter, don't know how that happen_ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Discovery

**Discovery**

* * *

Tony never bothered to check the time while in his lab. There was no reason to. Sure, he's missed one too many meetings, but if it was important, then Jarvis or Pepper would have gotten him. He currently was approaching his 8th hour straight after waking up And when I say waking up, I mean he took a 90-minute nap on the couch he kept up there with him after being awake for more than 24 hours trying to improve or create this and that.

Black Sabbath blared through his state-of-the-art surround sound while Tony was arms deep in his creation of his newest version of his Iron Man suit. He was currently trying to fix one of the circuits that connected to the C60 Arc Generator, which had kept failing, causing the energy blaster in his left arm to fail. It wasn't until his music suddenly stop did Tony looked up. Before the billionaire could ask what happened, he soon heard Jarvis' voice fill the room.

"Sir, it appears as if there has been a fight on the ground floor. The assailant already has fled the scene. The victim of the event is currently injured and unconscious. Medbay as already been alerted and is sending down two paramedics."

"Okay, Jarvis. Hey, go ahead and send Bruce down as well, I kind want to check out what happened."

"Already on it Sir."

Wiping his hands on a rag, despite not having anything on them, Tony left his lab, after who knows how long, in pursuit of said injured person. This peaked his interest in the fact that normal nothing in a violent sense ever happens here except unless it had been directed at one of the Avenger. So to say he was curious at the unlucky person would be an understatement.

Arriving on the ground floor, he pushed through the crowd of people, who have all grouped around the person intent on filling their own morbid curiosity. Shooing them away, his eyes fell onto the person lying limp on the floor. "Jarvis! You could've mention the victim, as you put it, was a kid!"

"I apologise Sir. That information did not seem pertinent at the moment."

With that response, Tony made a mental note to edit Jarvis programming before turning his attention to the kid before him. Crouching down, he instinctively checked the younger's pulse. He knew the kid was alive, but he wanted to make sure.

Waiting for Bruce and the paramedics arrived, Tony looked up to see the shattered glass. "Hey Jarvis," He began to ask, with a cautious tone to his voice, "what happened to the door?"

"The person before you had been thrown through the glass by his attacker." He heard Jarvis reply as if it was the most normal thing to have happened. Upon hearing said reply, Tony just stop for a moment. Not sure what to do, he echoed the information back at Jarvis. "You're telling me this kid got thrown through the door?"

"Yes, Sir." Astonished that someone could shatter his bullet-proof glass, he began to probe for more information but was stopped when he saw Bruce exit the elevator with his medical bag. Sounding a little skittish and uncomfortable he called over to the newest arrival. "Hey, Brucie, little help over here."

Moving around Tony to get to the kid, Bruce's medical training kicked in and he started by taking the kid's backpack off. Taking a quick look at the kid he began to assess the visible injuries before turning to Tony. "Tony," He started, not hiding the concern in his voice. "What happened here?"

"I don't know!" He started, his tone changing from before into something with more panic. "I was just up in my lab when Jarvis up and tells me that this kid just got thrown through the door." Tony pointing at the shattered door right next to them as if Bruce didn't already know the location of said door. Seeing the confusion on the scientist's face he adds much more calmly, "Ya, I know, that doesn't make since. I'm just going to watch what the security cameras captured once I know this kids fine."

Both of them now refocused on the kid before them, Bruce gently presses on Peter's chest. "Tony, we're going to have to move this kid up to the medical wing. From the look of it, he seems to have 3 maybe 4 broken ribs and a couple are bruised."

As if on cue, the two paramedics Jarvis had called for arrived with a stretcher in hand. Checking to make sure the kid was in a stable condition, they lifted the unnamed kid onto the carrier device and brought his up to the 5th floor. Bruce, having taken special interest, took control of the situation and told the professionals that if he needs assistance he would call for someone qualified.

Beginning to treat his injuries, Bruce slid the kid's shirt off. He froze. His eyes scanned over the pale torso. A kid he would have pegged for 14 or 15, 16 at max, had scars peppering his body, the most noticeable being three thick scars going from his left shoulder to his right side. Trying to ignore the past wounds, he began to focus on the more prevalent ones.

After about an hour, Burce had finished removing shards of glass and setting and wrapping his 4 broken ribs and his 6 bruised ones. But it wasn't the newest injury that made him feel sick, sure he couldn't stand the idea of anyone hurting someone so young, but something else caught his eye.

The kid's wrist had been covered his what was obviously self-inflicted cuts, and if it wasn't for the giant purple bruise on his sides, Bruce was positive he would see cuts there as well. Some looked old and faded while others looked new and fresh. Looking at his left wrist, he could tell those were the newest and were a target when he got attacked do to the fingernail markings on the reopened, ripped skin which was left bleeding. Taking a deep breath, he began to dress the wounds, all the while wondering what would make a kid this young think of self-harm.

Once he was sure everything was dealt with and the kid would be okay, he left the kid to rest. Deciding to head up to Tony's lab, he told Jarvis' to call him when the kid woke and went to the elevator. Just as he entered the lad, Tony whipped around and immediately asked "Hows the kid?"

Bruce shrugged uncomfortably, "He's got 4 broken ribs, 6 bruised ones, major bruising on his stomach, back and sides and..." He hesitated. He himself needed a second to prepare himself to hear the next part. The hesitation seemed to cause Tony to grow more anxious than he already was. "He also has a multitude of self-inflicted cuts on his wrists and waist."

Upon hearing that last part, Tony shifted from foot to foot. Suddenly, with a stronger urge to find out who this kid was, he ignored Bruce's earlier protest of respecting the kids privacy and sat down in front of his holographic computers. Opening up the New York's citizen's database, he began to cross reference the kids features, height and estimated age to see if they could get a hit. Bruce protested again as he watched the monitor from behind Tony as he began to weed out candidates. After about five minutes, they had only one person left. Peter Parker.

* * *

 **End of Chapter Three**

* * *

 _And that's the end of Chapter Three. Nothing too exciting, but, we finally have some Avengers being introduced!_

 _Hope you all enjoyed! And, please leave a review, constructive criticism and suggestions always welcome and it will convince me to actually write more. Thanks for reading, hope to see you at the next chapter!_

 _Shout out to InquisitoryDarkling for your comment._


	4. First Encounter

**First Encounter**

* * *

As Peter began to regain consciousness, he immediately felt head started to hurt behind my eyes, a low hum of light pain. It wasn't a killer ache, it just was enough to cloud his thoughts like a swampy river. His head felt heavy and all he wanted was the pounding to stop. The pain throbbed and pulsed in his skull, not a sharp pain like a knife-inflicted wound like he normally got from his ever growing stress, but more like a dull pounding with a hammer. Over... and over... and over again.

After getting tired of the constant heartbeat he felt in his skull, Peter's fuzzy mind watched the last remnants of his dream get chased away by the realisation he was awake. With a mental sign, Peter allows his brain to focus and cautiously opened his eyes.

Blinded by the light streaming from the window, he quickly closed them, taking him a harsh breath. The light intensified his headache but had also helped him wake up a bit more. Eyes still closed, Peter pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against the backboard of the bed. Without thinking, he reached over to the side table with intent to grab his glasses only to have his arm hit open air. Revelling brown eyes to the world, he was met with blurring and hazy vision from lack of use. Blinking a few times, the student found himself to be in what looked like a private hospital room.

It was then, did he remember the events from earlier. The hour on the roof. The copy and paste school day. And the encounter with Flash. It all hit him at once. Subconsciously rubbing his left wrist, he suddenly realised he had no clue where he was, what time it was, and most importantly, where his backpack was. Peter couldn't help but remember that his had carelessly left his... costume... loose and visible in his bag instead of in its secret pocket. Beginning to panic, he decided to try and get out of the bed in pursuit of said bag.

Swinging his legs out of the bed, he heard the sound of the door slide open before he got a chance to stand. Turning his attention over to the sound, he found himself speechless. Standing in the doorway, was not, as he expected, a nurse or doctor, but, to his great surprise, his lifelong idol, Tony Stark.

"Hey, Kiddo, how ya feeling?" His voice sounded calm and relaxed matching his posture, simply leaning on the wall. Peter brain currently being clouded with his internal fangirling, he just blinked and stupidly replied, "You- You're...You're Tony Stark."

His words came out slow and stagger. It almost sounded like a question, which in a way it was. To Peter, the last person he ever thought he would meet was Tony, Fucking, Stark. Sure, once upon a time he figured he would meet him, but as Spiderman, especially after the whole alien invasion, considering he had helped them out, but, alas, he never did. Refocusing on the present situation, Peter heard the superhero before him reply, "Oh my God! I am Tony Stark. Hadn't really notice, being an eccentric genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist. Thanks for pointing that out kid. Anyway, you got a name?"

Tony's voice wasn't sarcastic as one would expect based on what he said, but more playful and genuine, with a hint of teasing and a lot of gloating with the whole 'being an eccentric genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist.' Too shell-shocked, Peter unconsciously fell back onto his Spider-Man persona.

" _Well_ , considering who you are, oh mighty Iron Man, shouldn't you already know? Or are you not all your cracked up to be, Mr billionaire playboy philanthropist. " His tone was very light hearted and jokey. Peter hesitated as he began to have a silent internal battle trying to remember when he last sounded like that. Unaware of Peter's struggle, Tony, amused by the response, made his confession.

"You forgot eccentric genius, but, I like you kid, and yeah, your right, I _did_ do a little research on you. So yes, I know your name, I just want to see if you know your name." Peter expression changed from the rare cheery one he donned back to his normal blank stare. Tony didn't know what he said to cause such an expression but stay quite waiting for the kid's reply.

Peter's thoughts, now glued to the memory of Gwen, tried to refocus as he stuttered out "P-Peter. Peter Parker." *1

Satisfied with the given response, Tony nodded then decided to turn the subject to something that would remove Peter's hurt expression. " _So_ , Peter, got someone you need to call? You've been out cold for a couple of hours. It's currently 8:57 pm, so that would be 6 hours to be specific."

Once said, Tony realised he had, yet again, hit another nerve. "No," Peter said in a quiet voice, a hint of sadness lacing his words. "No one I need to call." Tony watched as Peter hesitated. Then he heard him continue in a soft, spite whisper, "The Orphanage doesn't care if I come back or not."

"Well then, I guess you're free to join us for dinner," Tony said in a happy voice, hoping to turn the mood.

"Us?" Peter questioned.

"Oh yeah. Bruce and Cap are upstairs on the Avenger floor. Black Widow and Hawkeye won't be back for another week and Thor is in Asgard, but three out of six is still pretty good, considering."

"Uh, sure b-"

"Great, let's go!" Tony grinned, as he interrupted Peter.

Trying again, Peter asked, "Umm, can I get a shirt maybe? Also, where's my backpack?" He tried to say that second part as calmly and as normal as possible, trying not to raise an alarm that something out of the ordinary hid inside. Unfortunately, Peter realised too much of his anxiety slipped through. Second guessing himself, he added an excuse to make it seem like more of a normal question. "I-I'm pretty sure my glasses are in there and I-I kinda need them… to see... and stuff."

With a few burst of nervous laughter though into that last sentence, Peter felt that any anxiety that had slipped through would now be written off as awkward embarrassment. Waiting on Tony response, he hoped that he hadn't been too obvious.

Tony didn't seem to have picked up on his anxiety or tone, or at least didn't acknowledge, and simply replied, "Bruce made sure to grabbed your bag so no one would go through it, _well_ , so I wouldn't go through it. But can you blame me for being curious? A kid gets thrown through my bullet proof glass door and you expect me _not_ to be curious about what's in his bag? As for a shirt, I'm sure I can find something."

Watching him leave the room, Peter glanced down to see the bandages wrapped around his wrists. He hadn't noticed it earlier when he rubbed his wrist. He guessed that he'd just gotten used to some sort of bandage being there. Running a finger over the gauze, he remembered the much dark events of the past night. Wanting to turn his thoughts away from that, he pondered over his current situation. At this point, he didn't need to ask where he was. He was at Avengers Tower, and he was about to have dinner with one of his biggest idols.

Peter didn't hear the door opened, having been lost in thought, but, when he felt his spidey sense go off, he didn't even need to look up as he caught the shirt flying his way.

"Nice reflexes." Tony complimented.

Giving a quick 'thanks', he quickly slipped on the Black Sabbath band-tee, which was a hung on his slender frame, ended below his hips, and got off the bed in order to follow Tony to the elevator.

Stepping into the metal box, he watched the doors close. "Jarvis, take us up to the Avenger's floor."

Peter didn't even have to ask who Tony was talking to. He had already read everything involving the inventors work to know who Jarvis was. It also helps that he had hacked into Tony's system one too many times. Hearing the British AI give Tony a prompt 'Yes, Sir,' Peter felt the elevator raise and began to mentally prepare himself for whatever awaited.

* * *

 **End of Chapter Four**

* * *

 _Yay! New Chapter. Mostly just fluff. I wanted to add a bit of banter between the two but that will have to wait. And I also suck at writing anything even remotely quippy._

 _I also hope my overuse of commas, like in the sentence:_

 _'Standing in the doorway, was not, as he expected, a nurse or doctor, but, to his great surprise, his lifelong idol, Tony Stark.'_

 _Didn't appal you as it did one of my friends. But, it /is/ grammatically correct, despite the use of seven commas._

 _*1_

 _In case you didn't get my tiny reference, in the first Amazing Spiderman movie, Gwen asked Peter what his name was despite knowing it just to make sure he did._

 _Hope you all enjoyed the newest chapter. All comments are appreciated! Please, if you want to, of course, leave a comment. I love reading what you all have to say!_

 _Shout out to soraxtsuna123 and KittyPersona! Thanks for your support._

 _Reply KittyPersona Review: When I reread the original chapter, I kinda had the same realisation you did about Peter getting thrown through the door and Tony's and Bruce's response. My original thought process was that Tony would have initially thought that the fight had started in the building and hadn't connected the two until Jarvis pointed it out. But, when rewriting, I realised that the tower would have had bullet proof glass considering it /was/ the hang out for the Avengers and added it in. Glad you are enjoying the story enough to follow over from the original!_


	5. And Awkwardness Ensues

**And Awkwardness Ensues**

* * *

Peter had no idea what to expect. He was moments away from stepping out of the currently ascending elevator and having dinner with, not only one of his life-long idols but three of the six superheroes that single-handedly saved the earth.

Awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he casually wrapped his arms around himself. Not in a defensive or crossed manner, but more as a hug. The teenager felt overly self-conscious and his anxiety did nothing to help. To Peter, he was going into this situation blind. He had no idea on what was going to happen. He didn't know anything, and that scared him. For all he knew, Tony had lied about the location of his backpack and was leading him into a room full of Shield agents.

It didn't take much effort to learn that his alter persona's disappearance did not go unnoticed by the public that it's identity was still being sought out by select organisations.

Single handily making his anxiety worse, he began to run different scenarios through his head. The current 'best case' was that this was simply him joining them for dinner before going on his way and no one knowing anything about anyone. But, to his displeasure, his mind kept going back to his 'worse cases', which, at this point, consisted of Shield, and imprisonment. After all, he still had an arrest warrant on his head.

Eventually, the metal box that was the elevator, stopped and released him from its confines. Glad to be freed from the awkward atmosphere he had created, he took a second to examine the room he had just entered.

Said room, that Tony and himself had stepped into, was very spacious. The elevator had been positioned in the middle of the wall, opposite to another which was made completely out of glass. To his left was a couch centred to the left wall with various chairs to either side, turn to face a flat screen TV. To the left of the TV, there was a hallway cutting the left wall short, bleeding into another area. To his right, he could see a bar, which connected to the wall but curved into an entrance near the windowed side of the room. Behind the bar held a fairy sized kitchen. Stepping into the room, he would have expected something less... homely.

Following Tony, Peter froze on the spot and began to internally fangirl.

"Bruce, Capsicle, this is Peter." Tony began, indicating to each person as he said their name. "Peter, meet Captain America, or Steve, that being his name and Bru-"

Tony was soon interrupted by Peter who quickly and excitedly said, "You're Bruce Banner! I've read all your work on biochemist, nuclear physics, and gamma radiation."

Tony, beaming with joy, turns to Bruce before he could reply to Peter's outburst. "See Bruce, I told you, he's totally perfect! He likes science and knows who you are!"

"Tony, you don't have to sell me on the kid. Never did I say I didn't want him hanging around." Bruce stated, turning his attention back to Peter. "Though I am surprised you've read my research."

Becoming slightly more comfortable with the situation he found himself in, he eventually moved towards one of the bar stools, only to have Bruce hand him his back pack. Trying not to be obvious, he opened the zipper to check on its contents. "Kid, don't worry, No one went through your stuff. But, if your that anxious to check, I might get curious on whats in there."

Hearing Tony's comment of the bag, he quickly pulled his excuse from earlier and pulled out his glasses case. "Oh, nothing to interesting, just homework and stuff. I, I actually was getting my glasses."

Removing the frames from there confines, he put on his old glasses and heard Tony comment one more. "I forgot, you mentioned you wore glasses. Near sided I'm guessing."

With a small nod, they three turned back to the original conversation and found himself engrossed in conversation. As Tony, Bruce and himself went back and forth between different scientific theories, Captain America, or Steve, was quickly found on the other side of the bar, making a pot of pasta, blocking out the conversation completely, considering that it was going over his head entirely.. It was about a half hour later until Steve brought four plates over to a hidden table in the kitchen, forcing the group to relocate.

Sitting down, Peter found himself sitting on the end, next to Tony and across from Steve, Bruce sliding into the seat on Tony's right.

Staring at the meal before himself, Peter felt his mouth being to salivate. He couldn't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal. On his plate held pasta covered in a homemade puttanesca sauce, a piece of garlic bread and, in a separate bowl, a small side salad with a vinaigrette dressing. Trying not to scarf his meal down in one breath and enjoy it, Peter dug into the food presented as they continued their conversation.

It wasn't until Steve changed the topic did Peter remember why he was there in the first place. He had such a good time he had almost forgotten everything that had happened in the past month and even before then. Feeling the mood in the room drop, he heard Steve ask his question.

"Not trying to ruin the mood," _Too late..._ "but Peter, if you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

He didn't need to elaborate. Peter knew exactly what he was referring to and what he meant. The only problem was, Peter didn't know how _far_ that question reached. For all he knew, they knew as little to he got attack to he was some suicidal teenager who, oh yeah, just happen to be Spiderman. Figuring to go with the former of them knowing nothing, he took a deep breath.

" _Apparently_ , I'm everyone's favourite punching bag," It came out differently and more sarcastic than he expected. But, by being sarcastic, he could protect himself. It was easier. If he was serious, then it makes what happened real. If he makes it a joke, it hurts less. Joking made it feel less real, like it didn't happen. That it doesn't hurt. By being sarcastic, it makes recalling the events less painful, even though he could feel tears behind his eyes. "After school, Flash and his friends decided to have a little fun. I managed to escape, only to have them chase me all the way here. It's nothing new, they do it all the time."

Peter looked up to see the pain and sympathy in the others eyes. Peter knew as well as they did that he shouldn't be okay with this. But they don't understand that he deserves this. After everything, he's done. After everyone he's _killed_ , he deserves this kind of punishment.

Peter didn't know why he had been so honest, even if it wasn't the full truth. He could have easily avoided this conversation with a more evasive answer. But, he was pulled from thought when Steve asks, to Peter, one of the most stereotypical adult question.

"Have you talked to anyone about this? A parent or guardian? Being bullied isn't something you should just put up with son. Especially to this extent."

If there wasn't a table between them, Peter felt as though Steve would have placed a hand on his shoulder. Taking a bite of pasta, he thought of a reply that would be accepted. But there wasn't one. He so wished he could just say 'The school doesn't care, and to the Orphanage, it would be easier for them if I died. So no, I haven't talked to anyone about this.' But he realised that this would make matters worse. Deciding to lie, he faked a small smile and said, "Yeah, I talked to my aunt about it. The school know, but it's hard for them to do anything off property."

Well, he wasn't completely lying. The school was well aware of the bullying going on. It just didn't care. His reply seeming to send the table into silence. Tony, surprisingly enough, took control of the conversation and brought it back to something more cheery.

Soon they had finished their dinner, and quickly migrated to the couch, as they attempted to finish their debate on the Matrix, or more specifically, the science behind it and the theory on whether or not the 'real world' was just another layer of the program and if Neo was truly the one and not Agent Smith, the presumed 'bad guy'.

Putting the argument to an end, Tony decided on a Matrix marathon, which both Bruce and Peter agree to. Steve, deciding to retire to his room or floor, left the science bros to nerd out.

It wasn't until the end of the third movie, where Neo fights the thousands or Agent Smiths, did Peter finally fall asleep, head buried in Tony's lap. Once the two adults were positive that the youngest had fallen asleep, Tony paused the movie and turned to Bruce. "I'm concerned for him."

His voice was soft. Tony petted Peter's hair while looking down at him. "I know he's not telling us everything." Getting a look of confusion from Bruce, he continued, "He contradicted himself. He didn't think I heard, but he said 'the Orphanage didn't care' when I first talked to him. Why would he said he talks to his aunt at dinner if he said that earlier. I think he's hiding something.

"Tony, I think you might be over-thinking things, but I do think your right to be concerned. After all, you saw his wrist. We have to help. This kid…" Bruce paused. When he became the Hulk, Bruce had tried to end his life. Even if not in the same context, he could connect to the kid.

"I know," Tony said in a calm and gentle voice. Careful to not wake Peter, Tony leant over and placed a kiss on Bruce's nose.

* * *

 **End of Chapter Five**

* * *

 _FINALLY! IT'S COMPLETE! I am so bad when it comes to procrastination..._

 _How I manage to even get one chapter out amazes me, to be honest._

 _To those coming from the original, I'm not throwing the adoption idea out the window just yet. I currently plan to add it, just later in the story. I want to add more fluff in between, despite what I have planned for the next chapter._

 _Note: I'm so happy about everyone's continued support! It means so much to get an email containing feedback from you guys. Knowing that there are people willing to read my work is just the best feeling!_

 _Shout out to soraxtsuna123, Death Fury and KittyPersona! Thanks for your support._

 _Reply to soraxtsuna123: Glad you are enjoying the story! Also that you understand the whole overuses of commas thing. One of my friends was reading the chapter and called me at like 3 am just to ask what I was doing with that sentence. Also, she wanted me to tell you that, she, as a reader, does, indeed, 'just look at the sentence suspiciously' when such a thing occurs. And yes, I did purposely use six commas there to annoy her._

 _Reply to KittyPersona: Thank you for your support! The fact that you took time out of your day to comment means a lot to me. Hope you don't get to overheated, I know how uncomfortable it can be to have a laptop on your lap when it's a million degrees outside._

 _Lastly, for those who bother reading the Author Note, here's a reward._

 _Below is there original scene of Peter getting his back pack:_

Becoming slightly more comfortable with the situation he found himself in, he eventually moved towards one of the bar stools and found himself engrossed in conversation. As Tony, Bruce and himself went back and forth between different scientific theories, Captain America, or Steve, was quickly found on the other side of the bar, making a pot of pasta, blocking out the conversation completely, considering that it was going over his head entirely.

Half way through his sentence, Tony suddenly yelled, "Wait! I almost forgot!" Running over to the elevator, Tony disappeared, after a muffled 'Jarvis! Take me to Bruce's Lab!' Looking at Bruce confused, he got a shrug in return. After a minute of wondering what had gotten into Tony, he felt his spider sense go off, right before hearing a newly returned Tony yell his name followed by 'catch'. Seeing his backpack fly at him, he let the object hit him square in the chest before promptly falling out of his seat. _Yes_ , he _could_ have easily caught the bag, but, he was just Peter Parker, and he didn't have super sense, but instead, glasses. Glasses! Excepting help up from Tony, He dug in the front pocket of his bag and put on his old glasses. "I forgot, you mentioned you wore glasses. Near sided I'm guessing."

With a small nod, they three turned back to the original conversation. It was about a half hour later until Steve brought four plates over to a hidden table in the kitchen, forcing the group to relocate. Sitting down, Peter found himself sitting on the end, next to Tony and across from Steve, Bruce sliding into the seat on Tony's right.

* * *

 _Hope you enjoyed the story so far! And I will see you, in the next chapter!_


	6. The Breakdown

**The Breakdown**

* * *

 _Shadows consumed his vision. Flickering in and out of focus, circling around him like vultures. Mist and fog rose from the ash concrete floor that gave the illusion of falling out behind him. The world seemed to spin around him. Reality itself seemed to crumble as the figures grew closer, morphing into familiar faces. Blood and gore clung to the bodies, grotesque in shape as they tried to stumble closer._

 _A bomb, a blade, claws, drowning, an antidote, a knife, a gun, a fall. That's how they say they die. All unrelated, all preventable, and all his fault. They died because of him. Because of Spiderman. Because of Peter._

 _A bullet that took his uncle's life, now resulting in the first of many lumbering figures. He could see his exposed heart, frantically pumping, failing to keep the blood from flowing out. He sunken eyes stare emptily at him because he couldn't just take responsibility and be there for his aunt and uncle when they needed him._

 _The blade from Norman Osborn's hover-board, slicing through rotting flesh, black tar dripped out from around the blade, trailing on the floor, all because on his negligence to stop it._

 _A bomb that took his best friend's life after he refused to help Harry save his own life; webbing the bomb to his chest instead of giving up a sample of blood. Now, all that remained were limbs hanging together by strings of crimson webbing. The form sagged as organs and muscles hung out from charred skin._

 _Claws, by letting Captain Stacy risk his life to give him an antidote that ended both George's and Doctor Connor's life. On the left stood the shredded remains of the former, eyes glistening with a look that could only make him cringe, and on the right, was the frozen remains of a man only trying to help the world. The figure was tainted. The skin an ice blue. Crystal shards slicing and stabbing bleeding veins._

 _Drowning, by him, failing to help save Doctor Octavius from his own creation; ending his life to do the control of another. The mechanical arms were nowhere to be seen, just the pale skin, falling out of his body, no longer able to remain intact. Blood endlessly dripped from the form's eye's and water clung to its clothes._

 _A fall that could have been prevented. She didn't have to be there. He asked for her help but then was too late to save her. He let her die. He was too slow. She shouldn't have been there. HE COULD HAVE SAVED HER. HE COULD HAVE SAVED THEM ALL._

 _Faces flashed before him. Rapidly. The shadows got violent, swirl around him like a whirlpool. The floor below him finally gave out. He was falling. The world seems to spin. Everything and nothing was moving. He failed them. He killed them. It was all his fault. If he had never tried to play the hero… If he never tried to get revenge… If he never tried to find the truth… If… If… If he never tried to save the day, tried to help, they could all be alive. Saving others, making scientific breakthroughs, going to college, living their lives. He robbed them of this. He damned them to this fate. He should be dead, not them. This was his mess, his fault. And they had to die because of it. It's his fault. It's his fault. It's his fault!_

Waking up in a cold sweat, Peter jolted awake. Fresh, hot tears ran down his face. Cold clammy hands shook and quivered, trying to grip the fabric of the couch. Hyperventilating, Peter brought his knees to his chest and cried. Everything felt so vivid. It felt real. It was real. Nothing around him now was real. He could barely see through tear-tracked eyes, but he could still see the dream like state around him. The faulting pixilated world he seemed to have woken up to.

Shaking his head back and forth, he begged the voice that was his own to go away. It's his fault. It's his fault. It's his fault. It's his fault. It's his fault.

Forcing himself to take in a shaky breath, the world slowly came into focus. For what felt like years, Peter calmed down, not bothering with the tears trailing down his face. He didn't deserve to still be here. He didn't deserve the kindness of the Avengers. The kindness of real heroes. Taking a deep breath, he looked around the room. He was alone. Tony and Bruce were gone. Looking to his left, he saw a plate of food and a note:

 _Tony, Bruce and I were called to the Helicarrier for classified business._

 _Be back in an hour._

 _Left some breakfast for you on the table._

 _-Steve_

Setting down the note, he turned his attention to the food before him. Three pancakes. Nothing out of the ordinary, that is in till he noticed what sat next to them. It was a small detail that shouldn't have made him start crying harder. On the side of the plate sat a single strawberry and two blueberries. It was such a small detail, but it was the exact thing Aunt May did for him countless times in the past. Pushing the plate away, he grabbed his backpack that sat on the ground next to the couch. He didn't know how it got there, but he didn't care. Ripping it open, he pulled the mask of his costume out and tore it in half.

* * *

Five Minutes Before

* * *

Tony had been working in his lab ever since they'd gotten back from the helicarrier. Peter had still been asleep when they had arrived, so he told Jarvis to alert him when the teen awoke. It wasn't even ten minutes when Jarvis spoke.

"Sir, Peter has awoken. He seems to be in a high level of distress. Would you care for me to display a live video stream?"

Panicked, Tony simple replied, "Ya, do that."

Turning to face the panel on the wall, Tony watched in silence as he saw Peter absolutely break down. From waking up to the crying to the reacting to the food. Tony completely froze when he saw Peter, face streaked with tears, reach for his bag. In silence, his watched Peter rip the bag open and pull something out. He couldn't tell what it was, Peter seemed to have torn it in half before bending over to cry harder.

Tony's heart broke watching this. He had no idea what could ever possibly cause someone so much pain at such a young age. A fifteen-year-old kid, melting down in his living room, crying harder as he hugged his backpack. Snapping back to his senses, he told Jarvis to cut the feed. He couldn't watch this kid continue this way. He couldn't watch his kid continue this way. Getting up, he ran to the door in pursuit of the broken boy he swore he was going to help.

* * *

End of Chapter Six


	7. It's Okay

**It's Okay**

* * *

Shaking, Peter quietly sobbed into his backpack. He had managed to shove the mask back into to it at some point, but that didn't change his current state. Words rang in his ears as he clung to himself. Cursing the tears still streaming down his face, he heard a faint voice in the distance. Blinking through stinging eyes and blurred vision, the voice got louder. Feeling himself be brought into a hug, he broke down one more. When was the last time he allowed himself to act like this? To accept the touch of other? To let himself be so… vulnerable. He didn't care. Peter didn't need to know where he was, or who the other person was, he just clung to them. They were his lifeline.

At one point, he faintly heard his bag had rolled off the couch, but Peter didn't care, all that matter in that moment was his lifeline. Burying his head into the other's chest, he slowly began to stop crying but didn't bother to speak. Instead, he opted to listen to the soft words being whispered in his ear.

Eventually, Peter realized who the other person was. Tony. He was breaking down, crying his eyes out, in the arms of Tony Stark. And within moments of that realization, Peter went to pull away as fast as he could. But he didn't. Couldn't. The brunette didn't know if it was because he didn't want to or was too tired, but either way, he let himself stay in the embrace. Sinking into Tony's chest, he could hear the sound of his heart, beating loud and steady, but not alone. It was accompanied by the faint hum of the arc reactor. He could feel the vibration it produced, lulling him to sleep.

Tony didn't move when Peter finally drifted. No. He just sat there, holding the broken boy in his arms. Rocking him back in forth, holding him like the child he was. He wanted Peter to know that he didn't have to deal with this alone. Tony swore he was going to help this kid. His kid.

After about twenty minutes or so, Tony picked up the younger boy and carried him down the hall to a guest room. Opening a door, he placed Peter down on the bed. He looked so small and fragile. Pulling the blanket to cover his shoulder, Tony left the room. Upon re-entering the living room, he sat down on the couch. What was he going to do with this kid? His kid. With a sign, Tony grabbed the backpack and brought it into Peter's room. Setting the backpack by the bed, he left the room, leaving his kid to sleep and to find Bruce.

* * *

End of Chapter Seven

* * *

Hello! So... yeah. Sorry for not updating in like a year. Okay, maybe not a year, but if probably feels like it. I will try to be better at updating and posting. I PROMISE! It's just life... It sucks. Anyway, I'll probably re-write chapter 6 and 7 in a few days, I just really wanted to post them now, so sorry for any major grammatical errors.

Comments give me life. The more you guys spam me, the faster I'll write! Hopefully...

 _Hope you enjoyed the story so far! And I will see you, in the next chapter!_


	8. It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better

**It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better**

* * *

Waking from his stress-induced sleep, Peter slowly blinked his eyes open. Despite just now getting up, he still felt emotionally drained. He didn't want to get up. He never did. If he could, Peter would just grab his blankets, throw them over his head and never leave. Sighing, he stared at the ceiling for a good 20 minutes, contemplating in silence.

Rolling over, he turned to see a side table. To his surprise, he found he phone and glasses waiting there for him along with a glass of water. Out of habit, he leant over to put on his glasses and grabbed the water. After a long swig, practically downing the glass, he set it down and checked his phone. Oh. It's turned off.

Holding the button down, he watched his phone slowly glow back into life. Momentarily blinding him, he saw the time. 4:53 pm. and below that, 7 missed calls. He didn't even need to open his phone to know who they were from. Mrs Kelly. She ran the orphanage he was currently locked away at. For as much as the woman cares, she really did suck at her job.

With a deep breath, Peter gripped his phone in one hand and swung his legs over the bed. While heading to the bathroom, which he could see attached to his current room, he instinctually grabbed his backpack, which conveniently sat on the other side of the side table.

It wasn't until he had the door firmly shut did tears roll down his face. It scared him sometimes how even when alone, he was able to suppress the feelings raging inside of him. Letting the bag fall to the floor and setting his phone on the counter, he leant over the sink. With a sob, memories from earlier filled his head.

The dream. The costume. Tony. Everything. God, did Tony see the mask? He must have. He probably could see it from one of the cameras. Was that why he came to comfort him? Because he was Spider-Man? No, that can be it. Can it? Splashing water over his face, he glanced down at his bag. He could feel his addiction pulling at him.

Sliding down to the tiled floor, he ripped open his bag and searched for the thing that could just end it all. Hands shaking, he found the item of interest.

Completely overlooking the costume that taunted him, he pulled out a small silver razor. Wrapping his left hand around the object, he felt in cut into his palm. It wasn't enough to draw blood, but he could feel the string of skin splitting. Transferring the razor into his right hand, he places it upon his wrist.

With a breath, the razor seemed to still against his pale skin. He could see the remnants of old scars. In some sick part of his mind, he cursed his healing factor for removing them, slowly but surely. But, some of them survived. He didn't know why, but some scared, and others didn't. Biting his lip, he felt his teeth puncture the flesh, filling his mouth with blood, and he drew a new line of crimson over the older faded limes.

Left to right. A thin horizontal line appeared, adding to the collection. Despite the first one being deeper that he meant, and causing him to bleed, the rest did not. But all the same, it gave him the release he was looking for.

Ghosting the blade over his wrist, he pressed a little harder, focusing on the pain. The feeling. He watched the blood bubble up, filling the line. He stared as it pooling on his wrist, sitting there still. Tilting his wrist, he felt the crimson liquid run down his skin. The warm liquid trailed down to his elbow as he made his next cut. This one was more diagonal than the others, but still not enough to do any real damage.

He didn't know how many lines Peter managed to draw before he heard his phone begin to ring. Shocked by the suddenness, the brunette gripped the razor, causing him to unintentionally slice open his right palm.

Wincing, he scrambled to stop the bleeding on his palm and answer the phone.

"H-hello...?" He voices shook, laced with uncertainty and a voice blared from the other side.

"Peter! ThankGod!I'vebeencallingyouallweekend!Whathappened?Whereareyou?Iseverythingokay?Areyouokay?Didsomethinghappen?DoIneedtocomepickyouupThepoliceareoutlookingforyou!Theysaidyouwereprobablydeadbynow!Andevenafteryoufinallygotadopted!Youneedtocomebackrightnow!I'llcomegrabyou,justtextmetheaddress!"

Pulling the phone away from his ear, he tried to get Kelly to slow down. He couldn't understand half of what she was saying. Setting the phone down, he pressed toilet paper against his wrist. The bleed only seemed to get worse when he heard frantic knocking on the door. Hanging up, he moved to open the door, only to have it be swung forcefully open, causing him to fall.

Looking up, he was face to face with Steve, Tony, and Bruce. Clutching his bleeding arm to his chest thoughts flooded his ears, blocking out all outside noise and leaving the call forgotten. How stupid was he? Of course, they would know if he tried something like this. He knew Jarvis would alert them, after all, he hacked into the A.I enough to know all of his protocols, And that he was hooked into the entire building.

Shaking, he felt someone hug him. Trying to comfort him. He flailed. Peter was overwhelmed. The room seemed to spin and everything felt fuzzy. He had no idea what Kelly had say, nor what was being to said to him.

Tears began to blur his vision as he felt thing move around him. pushing his head aginst however was holding him, he let himself go numb. To block out the rest of the world.

Despite that, he still remembered feeling the quick sting of hydrogen peroxide followed by the scratchy-ness of gauze being wrapped around his left wrist. Too weak to fight them, he felt himself get picked up from the bloody bathroom floor and cared back into the bedroom. Peter could feel the bed bend underneath his weight as the younger was set upon it. Crying to himself, he grabbed the pillow. Curling around it, Peter buried his head and eventually fell back asleep for the second time that day.

10 Minutes Before

Tony, Steve, and Bruce had been in the living room area prior to Peter waking up. Steve had been busy making an early dinner while Tony and Bruce were cuddling on the couch going over some papers. Everything had been quiet since Peter's panic attack from this morning.

"Tony, don't you think you should tell Peter we're going to adopt him? After all, we just met him. What if he doesn't want to be adopted?" Bruce asked casually as he filled out the next section of the adoption paper, despite his concern.

"Let it be a surprise!" Tony answer cheerfully. "Besides, what person in their right mind would turn down the option to live with the Avengers!"

"Most normal people." Tony heard Steve reply from the kitchen. "Good thing he's not normal. Normal's boring," he returned before refocusing on the paper. The silence didn't last long before Bruce mentions the topic the others had been avoiding since it was first mentioned.

"So, are we just going to ignore the fact that we know nothing about Peter? From what we've gathered, he's highly intelligent with a bright future ahead of him, but he is also a suicidal fifteen-year-old, who has baggage that he might not want to talk about.

Silence. Ever since this morning, Tony had been unsure on what to do. He wanted to help his kid, but he didn't know how. Bruce has a point. They knew nothing about Peter and he was afraid that this may be just another one of his impulsive desisions. He wanted to help. He really did. But Tony knew that he wasn't parent material, nor did he provided a stable enviorment. He lived on coffee and blaring Black Sabbath, while speading multiple all-nighters working on high-tect metal supersuits that he then went out and fought supervillians in. Definantly not what the C.P.S is looking for, much less Peter. They may be the Avengers, but even they had their limit. Tony was about to answer Bruce when Jarvis decided to beat him to the point.

"Sirs, It seems that young Parker is awake. He seems to be locked in the bathroom. He is in high distress and appears to be injured via self-infliction."

And in that moment, their false sense of calm disappeared. No one said a thing. As if reading the others mind's, everyone simultaneously got up and ran to Peter's room. Steve arrived first. After the failed attempt of opening the door normally, he rapidly knocked on the door. Not waiting for a reply, he slammed his body against the wood until it swung open upon it hinges. Once the door was open, Tony pushed past Steve to see Peter on the ground, shocked and covered in blood. Rushing to hug him, he pressed his child against him, all in the attempt of comforting him. Feeling his fight against him, Tony whispered in his ear, trying his best to calm the other down

Bruce, medical supplies in hand, crouched down next to Tony and the kid. Cleaning and dressing his wounds, he left Tony to comfort Peter. Peter whimpered in Tony's arms but had long grown still as Tony asked Steve to carry the younger to the bed. Once the sleeping Peter was placed on the bed and cleaned up, Tony remained at his side, petting his hair.

Once Tony took over, Bruce and Steve swept the room of any sharp items and cleaned the bathroom. Eventually, they left Peter to sleep. Finding themselves back in the living room, they sat in silence, pondering on what they'll do to help their kid.

* * *

 **End of Chapter Eight**

* * *

SEE! I not dead! I plan to update every Sunday. Earliest, on Saturday, latest on Monday. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the newest chapter., and I hope you enjoyed the story so far! And I will see you, in the next chapter! ALSO, Feel free yo spam me with comments! They give me inspiration, even if you are are just correcting my grammar!


	9. A New Day

**A New Day**

* * *

He blinked back at thunderstorms swarming in his mind, the disjointed haze receding to the point where he could make sense of the world around him. His eyes stung from unshed tears as he rolled over onto his back. Though the edges of his vision flickered and danced dust particles made visible through beams of light making their way from the window.

Stretching out across the bed, Peter let out a yawn before sitting up and opening his eyes. His memories seemed fuzzy as he looked around the room. Everything seemed hazy. The world spun around him as he slowly looked over at the side table. No phone, but his glasses were there. Leaning over to grab them, a sharp pain emanated from his wrist. Wincing, he turned to look at his wrist.

Staring at the gauze, he closed his eyes and tried to think back to yesterday, or whenever he was last awake. And as if a floodgate had opened, he remembered where he was. Letting out a shaking breath, he attempted to ignore the familiar sting, grab his glasses and turn to the bathroom in hopes of finding his phone, after all, that /was/ the last place he remembered having it.

Making his way across the room, Peter approached the now doorless entrance to the bathroom. With a confused look, he vaguely recalled the door being broken in. Walking through, he found his once forgotten phone lying in the sink. It seemed a little scratched up, but nothing of too much concern. Pressing the power button, Peter watched the screen come to life. 2 percent battery, 7 missed calls and who knows how many texts. Turning it off, he slid the device momentarily into his pocket and turned back into the bedroom.

Grabbing his back off the floor, he reluctantly opened the main compartment. For a moment, red filled his vision, making him sick to his stomach. Closing his eyes and looking away, he shoved the mask deeper into the bag. Once out of sight, the brunette re-opened his eyes and searched for his phone charger.

Nowhere to be found. Great. Maybe Tony had an extra one lying around. Rummaging around once more he found a spare shirt of his. At this point, it had become a habit for the young vigilante to have a spare set of clothes hidden with his red and blue spandex.

Pulling off the oversized tee that had been thrown at him some time ago, Peter stripped himself of the now sweat covered fabric in favour of the semi-clean worn one from his bag.

Once he deemed his self decently dressed, he zipped his bag closed, pulled it onto his shoulders and stood awkwardly.

Before he could silently question to himself on what he should do, a posh British voice appearing from thin air, startling him momentarily.

"Sir Peter, Tony has requested your presence on the 49th floor."

Regaining his composer, he was once again reminded of one thing. He was at Stark Tower.

* * *

 **End of Chapter Nine**

* * *

 _NEW CHAPTER! NOT LATE! I PROMISE! Totally didn't write in under an hour with no beta or preview read... Okay /maybe/ I did rush. Guess y'all get to go down into the comments to call me out on my terrible grammar mistakes._

 _Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. For those coming from the original, yes, I did change the plot but don't worry, I HAVE A PLAN! I HAVE A PLAN THIS TIME! You will see items from the original make an appearance later in the plot line. So unless you absolutely hated the first draft, Why are you here? Not complaining, just confused._

Hope you enjoyed the story so far! And I will see you, in the next chapter!


	10. Deja Vu

**Deja Vu**

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Peter walked out the room, down the hall, and entered the lift. Without even a note of acknowledgement, the doors closed behind him. For a moment, Peter almost thought he wasn't moving. That he had remained stagnant on the previous floor. Looking above the reflective metal doors, he watched as a thin needle glided passed increasing numbers, indicating an upwards movement. Slowly, the lift began to open, silently adding to the feeling that he had been in a sound proof room for the past two minutes.

Taking a step forward, the brunette entered what he could only assume to be one of Tony's workspaces. Though, he'd probably describe the room more as a place where he tinkered. The room seemed to be covered in loose piece metal and scraps skewed about, but nothing too heavy duty. It seemed more of a place that Tony would go to hide more than anything else.

Lingering by the entrance, Peter stood awkwardly, arms positioned in a shy self-hug. As if aware of his presence, Tony appeared from around a corner. He looked tired.

"Hey, Peter, mind taking a seat for me?" Tony's voice sounded forced. Like he was trying to sound positive, but a cloud of seriousness cloaked the room. Smothering out the facade before it could even be presented or performed. Looking in the direction Tony had indicated, Peter realised that he was standing next to a time-worn plush couch. Moving around the arm, he sat down and the older pulled a chair over.

Peter watched as Tony spun the seat around and sat down, arms draped across the back. For a moment, Peter had a flash of deja vu, as if this had happened before. Almost as if he was about to relive a scene of his life. His spidey sense tingled in the back of his mind. He tensed for a second, but then it was gone. Like it never was there, to begin with. On the tip of his tongue, he felt as if he was about to lie. Not out of spite, but in confusion. But what was there to be confused about?

Taking a breath, he looked up at Tony. His face was stoic, as if not trying to give anything away before he had a chance to speak.

Peter felt as if the entire moment was wrong. That they should be interrupting each other, on different pages. Instead, they simply looked at each other, almost with a sense of understanding. Watching as Tony ran a hand through his hair, he heard that tired voice speak again.

"How long?" It was short, simple, to the point, and yet vague. How long what? His mind immediately went to his first paranoid fill in the blank, 'how long have you been Spiderman?' It was illogical and sent him back into his disorienting state of deja vu.

Shaking his head to push away his thoughts, he simply nudged for clarification. "How long what?"

Hearing a slight 'tch' the teen watched Tony slowly stand up and sit down next to him.

"You know what I mean Peter." He voice was quiet, barely a whisper. It was as if he believed that even his words were strong enough to hurt Peter. Slowly turning over Peter's wrist, gently like it was made of shatter glass and turned it over. Pulling the fabric up, he revealed the clinical white gauze. If it weren't for the subtle sting, Peter could almost trick himself into believing that it was just there for show.

Watching as Tony began to unravel the shield from his arm, the fabric-esque item fell away to reveal puffy red lines, freshly scabbed over.

"How long have you been cutting?"

* * *

 **End of Chapter Ten**

* * *

I'm so tired. It should be illegal to be this tired. You better believe I going straight to sleep once this is uploaded. Apologies in advance for any and all spelling and/or grammar mistakes. Technologie can only help so much. I promise I'll go back and edit this in the morning. Probably...

Hope you enjoyed the story so far! And I will see you, in the next chapter!


	11. Hiatus - I'm Sorry

Okay, first off, I apologize for not posting anything last week. I'm trying to get onto a schedule of posting every Sunday, but I have to put that on hold for the moment being. Hopefully, I will be able to resume that plan on May 28, at the latest, June 3. The reason for this is Exams went into full swing last week and I'm currently dying due to a mix of stress and anxiety.

I hope you all have enjoyed the story thus far! Thank you for your guy's continued support and I hope to be back with regular Sunday update soon!

Note: This will be removed when my Hiatus/Break comes to an end.


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